


Wolves in the Summer

by JonStark (orphan_account)



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/F, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-03
Updated: 2014-11-21
Packaged: 2018-02-24 00:41:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2561720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/JonStark
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When King Robert dies, Renly Baratheon seizes chance and murders Cersei Lannister, leaving the Seven Kingdoms in Regency of Ned Stark until Joffrey Baratheon comes of age - but even then the Seven Kingdoms threatens to fall into ruin, dragging the new royals and small folk alike with it into destruction and chaos.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Ned I

He sat atop the Iron Throne, high above them all as Lords and Ladies travelled across the Realm to swear allegiance to their new King. Prince Joffrey stood at the base of the Iron Throne, clad in black with sweet Sansa by his side, also wearing black, as of her insistence. The two younger ones wore the same shade as their brother, the littlest one sobbing whenever his mother or father were mentioned. That one was a sweet boy unlike his brother. It was difficult to tell what Princess Myrcella thought through her glassy green eyes at all these Lords and Ladies and their fake grievances for King Robert and Queen Cersei. The little Princes and Princess should not be Ned’s greatest concern, but the Gods knew that they were; their mother had killed their father and their uncle slaughtered their mother - what words were there to tell them such wicked details? _Joffrey should not even be my King; my King should be Stannis._ But where was Stannis when the Realm fell only to be hiding at Dragonstone with a foreign woman breathing into his ear and cursing them all for everyone to hear. Stannis would not give up the throne easily, Ned knew, but it was better to turn a blind eye to Robert’s bastards than divulge Stannis in destroying Westeros with his Gods.

“That shall be all,” came the sweet sound of relief from Lord Baelish.

It took long and lengthy minutes for the room to be drained of people; Ned had to personally dismiss the royal bastards and his own daughters. Staggering down the steps with Littlefinger rushing to his aid, Ned inquired as to why court was dismissed so early today.

“You have pardoned the rest of the Realm spare Lord Tywin and Lord Mace Tyrell - who has arrived in the city during our council.”

“Lord Tywin is here?” Ned echoed in surprise.

“Not Lord Tywin: Lord Mace Tyrell.”

“I shall pardon him on the morrow.”

“He comes with his household and banners: his wife and all their family, his two remaining sons who were not already in the city and one daughter. You met his youngest, Ser Loras Tyrell, he is most rejoiced to see them. _Especially_ the sister.”

“I see there is more to this arrival than you let on, Lord Baelish.”

“No doubt you will out on the morrow, King Eddard, when he addresses his proposal.”

Bright and early on the morrow with the court and council reassembled in the Throne Room, Ned climbed up the stairs to the Iron Throne for them all to see him in his pain. It seemed as if nothing had changed from the following day; all the faces in the crowd all seemed the same to him, the royal children stood in the same position and the council sat behind their tables, scrawling on parchment. Today there was an abundance of southron roses blooming in the garden. Ned listened to Lord Mace Tyrell of Highgarden declare his love for Ned, his house, Winterfell, the north and his children. He was a fat little man, Ned noted out of spite, and with the emphasis he put on joining House Stark and Tyrell, it made him all the more insufferable.

“... your daughter Lady Sansa is betrothed to our royal Prince Joffrey-”

“-Our Lady Sansa is _Princess_ Sansa now, Lord Mace,” Littlefinger corrected. “And yes she is betrothed to our Prince Joffrey, as is our Princess Arya and Prince Tommen-” Ned could hear Arya’s complaints from atop the throne and he pitied poor Prince Tommen for his unwilling betrothed. “-As is our Prince Robb and Princess Myrcella.”

“Yes my Lord, I understand that my Lord, but in the sudden loss of both our dearly beloved King Robert and Queen Cersei, might I inquire with our good and gracious King, if there was enough time to swear oaths for Princess Myrcella and Prince Robb, your Grace?”

“Aye, there was not Lord Tyrell; the Kingdom lost their King and Queen but a moon’s turn ago. Neither Prince Tommen or Princess Myrcella have spoken their oaths. Is there a point to your bleating, Lord Tyrell?”

“There is, King Eddard: may I present to you my daughter, Lady Margaery of House Tyrell.”

Stepped forward was Lady Margaery, as pretty as Littlefinger’s painting had shown her to be - a beauty so clear Ned could see it from high above them all on the sword forged throne. Whispers and murmurs spread amongst the court but the Lady Margaery smiled sweetly at the King and the royal children and council the entire time. Court did not daunt her.

“King Eddard, it is a gracious gift to be welcomed into your keep.”

“You can see my daughter to be very beautiful, Lord Stark - many men have spoken to me about her hand. She is a maiden, I would swear on it, four-and-ten and a good Lady for any household. It just so happens you have a son of similar age, don't you your Grace?”

Ned shifted uncomfortably in the throne. “I have two sons of that age, Lord Tyrell.”

“Yes, but one has joined the brave men of the Night’s Watch. Now your son Prince Robb rides down to King’s Landing - and though I would loathe to interrupt any love shared between Princess Myrcella and Prince Robb, your Grace, might I suggest a union between my Margaery and your Prince Robb?”

Ned considered it. If Stannis Baratheon were to attempt to take King’s Landing, what would stop the Tyrell’s from joining his cause if it meant that one of their own might sit the throne as Lord Mace intended to do with Margaery. She was pretty enough, and Ned knew that Robb liked pretty girls. Glancing down at Littlefinger who had made no objection to Lord Tyrell’s proposal nor had he prompted Ned to accept the offer, though. “And what do you want, Lady Margaery?”

“It would be an honour to have Prince Robb as my husband, your Grace; I have heard such tales of his bravery and handsomeness all the way down in the south. It would be my greatest desire to join House Stark, your Grace.”

Prince Tommen and Prince Joffrey would still wed Arya and Sansa when the time came when both girls bled, what reason was there truly to reject Lord Tyrell’s offer? Wedding all three royal bastards to three of his children would be a waste of unifying houses in truth. There was no logical reason as to why he should reject.

“If my son allows it, then so shall I. It would be a great gift to the north if you were to join our house, Lady Margaery.” And he saw the young girl smile as if she did not already know the outcome from the offset. "My son should arrive from Winterfell in a fortnight and my wife shall surely follow. Allow me to propose the plans to my son first before you become acquainted with him; I do not want to give you false hope."

"Of course not, your Grace, I would wait a lifetime if it meant I was even _considered_ by the handsome and noble Robb Stark."

Ned gave her nothing more than a smile and sent her on her way.

Descending the stairs of the Iron Throne, it prompted cause for concern that perhaps he had done the Realm a great insult that he had cast aside Myrcella for the future wife of his son. Lord Varys had informed Ned that the young girl had been delighted at the prospect of marrying his son, claiming already to be in love with him. _She is only a little girl. She does not know what true love is._ Mayhaps she could wed Bran if it was a Stark she desired, or Theon maybe; Ned ought not turn a blind eye to his ward; he was a good lad and the closer he kept him to Ned, the further invasion crept from Balon Greyjoy's mind.

Ned had dinner as he so often did with the children and his steward, Vayon Poole and the Septas Mordane and Eglantine. It was a meal of beef stew and honey oat bread, pork loin and vegetables cooked in oil and a small variety of freshly baked pastries from the kitchens downstairs.

"Father, shall Robb really marry Margaery Tyrell?" Arya questioned as they started the soup.

"I hope so," chimed Sansa, "did you see how beautiful she was and how kind?" Sansa looked to the little Baratheon Princess for agreement, but she got none. "Father do let Robb marry Margaery; she seems a dream!"

" _Sansa!_ " scolded Septa Mordane. "This is an important decision your father must make, not one that you have say over."

"She was only saying she wanted Margaery to be her friend truly, didn't you Sansa?" Simpered Joffrey. "You shouldn't scold her for that, Septa."

Joffrey had a quick temper and a bitter tongue. Ned had seen if before in front of Robert and Cersei and the court at the Trident when Sansa's wolf had been out to death. Ned did not wish to see this sort of commotion happen again.

"Father, can I ask Lady Margaery to walk the gardens with me tomorrow? I am ever so excited to meet her! Arya, Myrcella - do you want to come with me?"

"Why would I want to meet _her_?"

"She might be our sister one day, Arya."

"Not mine."

"She will be if she married Robb!"

Suddenly, Arya's knife stabbed the oak table with a sudden jolt that shocked  those who were seated around it. While both Septas scolded Arya for it, Arya snapped, "if Robb doesn't have to marry Myrcella anymore then I don't have to marry Tommen!"

"Arya..."

"Father please!"

"Young lady this is not your decision to make."

Ned saw the look in Arya's grey eyes that he saw in his sister's when she begged Lord Rickard not to send her away to Robert Baratheon. Was she that desperate to burn her skirts and pick up a sword that she would discard the greatest match in the Seven Kingdoms spare Joffrey? Ned would be more than inclined to give Arya her wish, to remain unmarried and to swing her sword and ride horses as Lyanna so desired to do, but Lyanna's story had resulted in tragedy. He would not see his youngest daughter live through the same.

"Arya we shall discuss this on the morrow."

"Arya at least if we wed we will not be marrying strangers," Prince Tommen pointed out, and Ned wanted to laugh for his innocence. Even Arya at that comment couldn't disagree with the young Prince. "And I promise to be kind to you always."

"Well would you look at that," Joffrey mocked. "Tommen's in love!" Sansa laughed with Joffrey while both Arya and Tommen blushed a bright red. "Sister what do you think?"

All eyes seemed to turn on Myrcella who glanced up at Joffrey when he addressed her at last. "I think you out to stop being so wicked to Tommen. Have you forgotten that mother and father just died?"

"Of course not you insolent little _fool_."

"Joffrey," Ned snapped. "That is your sister you are talking to, not a servant who did you harm, under my rule as King you shall not speak to her with such distaste - nor anyone like that for that matter. Apologise to both your sister and brother."

He felt the young Prince's anger in the look he received. "You're not my mother you cannot tell me what to do."

"No I am not, but your father left you in my trust and I promised him I would love you as if you were my own son. Now your mother and," Ned had to collect himself. "Your mother and King Robert are dead. The people sat around you are your family now. Robb rides for Winterfell with Theon and our household and my wife Lady Catelyn will join us in due course. Your Grandfather and Uncle are summoned to the city to answer for their crimes. Shall I tell Ser Jaime and Lord Tywin the disrespect their own blood inflicts upon their siblings?"

There was disapproval in Joffrey's face: daring and guilt too, but not distrust either. "No," he admitted.

"And Arya, we shall discuss your displeasure of your betrothal to Prince Tommen with his family present also to work out the best scenario. I bid you all goodnight, I shall eat my supper in my chambers until you have all learned to act the roles you have been given in life: Princes and Princesses not small folk and savages."

While Sansa and the two youngest looked apologetic for their exchanged words, Joffrey and Arya continued to stare daggers at one another from across the table. _Thank the Gods it is not those two marrying; the Realm would not survive to see their marriage through a month._ Though Ned did not want to see Sansa draped in a cloak not fit for the man who would gift her with it or wear a crown that was not rightfully hers, if he did not wed Joffrey and Sansa together what would stop the Lannisters from taking siege of the city? Lord Tywin was livid that his daughter had been murdered, Ser Jaime had pillaged the Riverlands and they were in open rebellion against Renly Baratheon and Ned himself, they could scarcely attack the Iron Throne when their own blood were seated on it. They would arrive at King’s Landing and Ned hoped he could resolve all this fighting. He’d pardon Lord Tywin and Ser Jaime for the sakes that his daughter’s would be marrying their kin and allow them to visit King’s Landing regularly once they had sworn fealty to Ned. Joffrey would not come into his crown for four long years yet. Peace should be restored to the Realm by then.

While Sansa apologised for being rude, it did not stop Ned from leaving the children at the table. In truth, he did not want to face the royal bastards; too ashamed of what he had done: killing their mother and allowing them to keep their claim to the Iron Throne when it should _not_ be theirs.

“Stannis is my King,” Ned muttered. “Joffrey is the product of incestuous relations… How can I let him sit on the throne? How could I let Sansa wed him?”

If he told Cat, she’d be furious - if he told Robb, Robb might just finish Joffrey off. But if Joffrey died it would leave Tommen to take the throne, and though the boy was kinder he was still Jaime Lannister’s bastard. He would not kill a cruel boy for a kind one for the sake of the Realm; if he wished to benefit the Realm he’d have them all exiled to the Free Cities and take the throne for himself and his family, but then that would lead to war with the Lannister’s and he didn’t wish to taint Robert’s name either. Even after four long weeks of being King, Ned still did not know where he stood with the matter of the children. Now Robb would wed Margaery, where did that leave the girl? She could wed Bran, but Myrcella, Bran and Rickon could be wed to other houses now and create better ties - perhaps other Lannister daughters for Bran and Rickon: the children of Lord Tywin’s brothers and sister mayhaps and Jon Arryn’s son for Myrcella. Deciding to ponder on this on a different day when his head was not throbbing from the incessant needs of the smallfolk at court, he instructed the servants to have his dinner taken up to his chambers.

Ned rose late the morning that followed the Tyrell’s arrival to the capitol. Ned’s squires bathed him and changed him and had food to break his fast on brought to his chambers; the rest of the castle had already broken their fast and food for noon was already being made and prepared in the kitchens. Ned passed up on his food, allowing his two squires to eat rather than him; the boys were frail and skinny, they probably hadn’t seen a meal as good as Ned’s in too long. Leaving them to eat, laughing over meat and honeyed milk, Ned went in pursuit of either Septa Mordane or Eglantine. He found them both in the girl’s solars, doing needlework with Princess Myrcella and her lady’s in waiting.

“Where are Sansa and Arya?” Ned asked.

“Prince Joffrey took Princess Sansa to walk the gardens, your Grace,” Septa Mordane reported. “And Arya is at her dancing lessons.”

He had hoped to see Arya, to catch her before she started dancing lessons with Syrio Forel. “Lady Margaery is not attending your lessons, Princess Myrcella?” Ned asked of the young girl.

“I never asked her, your Grace,” reported the girl. “It’s Sansa who wants to meet her, not I. I saw her last evening, I spoke her to her and welcomed her to the city with Tommen then we left.”

Resting a hand on the girl’s shoulder, Ned crouched down beside her. Sansa and Arya had always turned away whenever their father did this, but Myrcella looked straight at Ned. _It is a pity this one cannot be Queen; she has more of Robert in her than either of her brother’s. She is the bravest lion in the pride._ “I know you would have liked to marry Robb,” his voice was little more than a whisper to spare embarrassing the Princess. “But I’ll find you someone just as nice.”

“Thank you, your Grace,” Myrcella whispered back, but when Ned rose with his battered leg, Myrcella mumbled to him in a morbid voice. “But I just didn’t wish to wed a stranger.”

He patted the young girl’s shoulder and hobbled away on his stick in search of his youngest daughter and thought back to Tommen’s words last night that he spoke to Arya, and how even Arya had seen the bright side of their betrothal. Perhaps the girl was not in love with Robb, but the idea that she would be marrying someone she knew, who was well liked and trusted, rather than someone like Robert. Though Robert had been Ned’s dearest friend and it did not do well to talk ill of the dead, Myrcella had likely seen Robert’s violence first hand or at least the bruises he had given her mother.

“Arya,” Ned called. “Arya sweet child, what are you doing today?” He found Arya perched on a window ledge, her thin, tiny toes balancing over the edge. If she fell she would likely break her arm or leg. “Get away from that window!”

“Syrio tells me that I must be as still as the water.”

“Well I tell you that water is never still; it’s always moving.”

She leaped down off the ledge as graceful as prancing doe. “Water doesn’t move.”

“Water in a cup may not but the sea at Blackwater and the river at the Trident always does. Now tell me sweet child, why don’t you wish to marry Prince Tommen?”

Struggling to sit down on the steps that lead up to Maegor’s Holdfast, Arya helped ease him down, to which he thanked her for. She sat down beside him, thin as a stray cat, barely reaching Ned’s shoulder even when she sat a step higher than him.

“I don’t want to marry anyone.”

“And why is that?”

Arya shrugged. “That’s _Sansa_ \- that’s not me! I want to be a Knight and fight in tourneys and win battles like Visenya Targaryen and-”

“-Visenya was still married, sweet one, and she had a child.”

“Yes, she wed her brother and her son was _Maegor the Cruel._ ”

“Your wit is sharper than your sister’s, perhaps it would suit Joffrey better than Tommen.”

Arya scowled at him. “I’ll run away if you marry me to _Joffrey_.”

“See, there are worse people for you than Tommen.”

“So why let Sansa marry him?”

 _Because I made a promise to Robert, because I need to keep the Lannisters close to me, because eventually he will be King._ “Maybe if you got to know Tommen better the idea of marrying him might appeal to you more. I spoke to Aron Santagar - do you know who he is?”

“He’s the Red Keep’s Master-at-Arms.”

“Yes he is. I spoke to him a few days back. He’s agreed to train you with sword and armour in the yard for three hours a day alongside Prince Tommen.”

Perhaps if Arya and Tommen could learn to fight with another, they could learn to love one another or at least allow Arya to grow closer to him, to make her more keen on the idea of wedding him. Arya looked at her father uncertainly.

“Tommen is a baby.”

Ned laughed. “Tommen is seven, barely two years your junior.”

“Still a baby.”

“Well you can learn to fight in the yard and eventually move on to real metal or you can sit and do needlework with Sansa and Myrcella and the other girls.”

“Does it mean I don’t have to do needlework and the other stuff Sansa has to do?” Then Arya’s smile faltered. “Mother would never let me stop.”

“You leave your mother to me. If you agree to at least consider marrying Tommen-”

“-I promise I will,” Arya blurted. “Can I still have my dancing lessons with Syrio?”

“If Syrio agrees with it, you can.”

Being King sometimes had it’s positive moments, like when Arya’s face lit up like a thousand candles in a darkened room and wrapped her arms tight around Ned’s waist. Laughing with his daughter, Ned returned the embrace while combing through her hair with his fingers. _Myrcella never had this with her father,_ a harrowing thought crossed Ned’s mind.

“You have to promise to be nice to Joffrey as well, no matter what he says to you. with He and Sansa said oaths and they _will_ wed when the time comes so he will one day be your brother. Be kind to Tommen and to Myrcella; they lost their mother and father.”

“I’m kind to Myrcella,” Arya claimed.

“Be kinder,” Ned said.

“I will.”

“And Tommen too.”

Hesitantly: “I will. I promise I will.”

“Good,” he ruffled the top of her matted brown hair. “I trust that you’ll keep your word as I’ll keep mine and don’t worry about your mother; leave her to me.”

“Thank you father,” Arya whispered. “I promise I’ll be nicer - even to Joffrey now.”

Ned smiled, knowing Arya’s promise was nothing but words to her.

 


	2. Sansa I

She wore a beautiful pastel green gown that seemed to billow around her dove lace slippers as she walked the stony path with her beloved around the lush green gardens. Father had assigned them guards, but Sansa knew with brave Joffrey at her arm she would never need them; so long as he had his sword in his helm and his arm linked through her own, Sansa knew no harm would ever come to her. Sansa could stare upon the flowers in the gardens all day and still not believe that any beauty could match her Prince Joffrey’s. Sansa felt as if she was the luckiest girl alive, to know that one day this man would be her husband and she would be his Queen and they would have beautiful, golden babies just as lovely as their father.

“Sansa, you must stop staring at me; it’s putting me off.”

“Sorry,” Sansa apologised.

“Oh don’t apologise,” Joffrey told her. “It’s sweet but very distracting.”

 _He called me sweet_! “You just look extremely handsome in your robes this morning, my Prince. That shade of red does wonders for bringing out the gold in your hair and the gleam in your eyes.”

“Oh Sansa, you sweet thing. You sicken me with your courtesies.”

He said it in such a way Sansa could not depict it to be anything other than lovingly. “Arya is awfully sorry for being mean to you last night, I know she won’t do it again.”

“Oh yes she seemed to apologetic about it all.”

Why did Arya have to ruin everything? She had been having such a wonderful time in the gardens with her sweet Prince and then she mentioned Arya and she ruined it all! Sometimes she wished Myrcella was her sister rather than Arya; Myrcella knew how to behave _and_ she knew her courtesies and wouldn’t embarrass her. All Arya wanted to go was dance with that weird little man who spoke in his funny tone. Sansa bet she would rather marry _him_ than the lovely Prince Tommen!

“What are you going to get me for my name day, Sansa?”

“Your name day?”

“Yes, my name day is in just two moons. Mother was going to have a tourney for me. I was going to fight in it.”

“You still can!” Sansa blurted. “Yes I’m sure you can! Father would love to throw a tourney for their beloved Prince! As big of a one as King Robert had for him! There will be fools and jousting and a feast bigger than any we’ve ever seen!”

Joffrey started laughing. “Oh Sansa, your excitement delights me, but it was to be nothing like that.”

“Well it can be now; your Uncle and Grandfather will be here for your nameday so it can be a special event and I promise to get you something lovely.”

“Your greatest gift to me, Sansa, would be for me to see you in the Sept on our wedding day as soon as possible.”

Bravely, Sansa took her hand. She didn’t know if it was the euphoria of being so in love with Prince Joffrey, or the fact that he was so kind and sweet and gentle and handsome, but she took his hand anyway. Her action even seemed to shock Joffrey.

“There is nothing I want more than to wed you, my Prince.”

As she took his hand by surprise, Joffrey leaned forward and gave Sansa a kiss on her cheek. She could feel all the blood rush to her head, her stomach flipping inside of her and her heart stop as soon as she sensed him leaning into her. What she felt when his lip came into contact with her skin was unreal, like every bad thing in the world had slipped away from her and only good would come to her.

They walked a little further amongst the gardens, Joff taking her to parts she had never seen before: south of the Red Keep overlooking the deepest part of the Blackwater Bay, right near where the Maidenvault was for people who came to stay in the Red Keep. Sansa knew almost all of them to be taken now, the last rooms taken by the Tyrell’s, but there would still be plenty for all of Lord Tywin’s host should he dare join them at King’s Landing. Sansa was not excited at the prospect of meeting her betrothed’s Grandfather as she should be, but there was a rousing in Joff’s eyes whenever his arrival was mentioned and for that, Sansa would feign her excitement.

Passing some sweet smelling bushes, when Joff and Sansa turned the corner they came across another host of groups: an elderly Lady escorted by identical guards. Sansa could not remember ever seeing her before but her presence made her feel as if she had known her much longer. She was a short lady with wisps of silver, walking with a cane, dressed in green silks with embroidered silver roses on the hem of her gown and a silver bouquet on the pommel of her cane. _The Queen of Thorns,_ Sansa suddenly realised, surprised at her own intelligence to recognise this woman. Subconsciously all this morning, Sansa had seen a servant weep and complain how the Queen of Thorns had yelled at him for bringing oats instead of dates to her solar this morning and how Ladies at court had been whispering about her, too. Sansa looked to Joffrey for help, and even he seemed a little uncertain, but it was not in Sansa’s nature to rudely turn her back on the frail old woman who walked their way.

“... is as frail as an old plastic fish! Ah! Now Left, Right, you two might be stupid enough not to comprehend this, but here we are in the presence of _royalty_. Now, my eyesight is poor, I see the crown but not the faces, tell me which ones you are, dear children; there are far too many royals at the moment for me to keep track of. It was easier to tell the Targaryen’s apart than it is to tell all your Starks and Baratheon children.”

While Sansa smiled pleasantly at the joke and introduced herself, “Princess Sansa of Winterfell, it is lovely to meet you at last, Lady Olenna and I might say I _adore_ your gown!”

“Thank you child, and I assume the one with the sour face to be your Prince Joffrey?”

“I am not _hers_ ,” Joffrey claimed. “I am Prince Joffrey.”

“Well your betrothed has better manners than you; I can only hope that your children would inherit hers rather than yours. I am sorry to hear about your mother and father though, Prince Joffrey.”

“Yes,” Joffrey muttered. “Well…”

“-Well Lord Renly can threaten to keep your mouth shut about the whole affair as much as he may like, but boy, you did lose your mother and father within the space of two days. We cannot blame you to show grief for them. Where are your mourning clothes? My court told me you wore them _proudly_ yesterday.”

“My squire informed me it wasn’t suitable to wear them so long. My mother and father have only been dead _four_ weeks.”

“A saddening affair I am sure. Now my brave Prince, would you do me the honour of stealing your betrothed for the afternoon? My Granddaughter Lady Margaery is awfully keen to meet your Princess; they are to be sisters after all.”

“ _Myrcella_ still remains betrothed to _Robb Stark_ ,” Joffrey said brazenly.

“Yes, well, run along please; the day shall draw to a close eventually and once Robb Stark arrives at King’s Landing, I dare say every breathing moment my Margaery shall have awake will be spent with him. I promise to return your Princess to you in one piece, if you worry for her so.”

Joff looked from Lady Olenna to Sansa. Though Sansa loved Joff and she loved being with him, she would not deny that a delight overcame her when Lady Olenna told Sansa that Margaery wished to see _her_! With a pretty smile and a promise she would walk with him on the morrow or later this evening, Joffrey stalked off in the opposite direction and Sansa accompanied Lady Olenna instead.

“Your Prince seems awfully keen on himself,” Lady Olenna opinionated. “Dear Gods, I do pity you child.”

“Prince Joffrey is handsome and gallant and I love him dearly, my Lady.”

Sansa felt the Queen of Thorns’ eyes scour her body for falsity, but Sansa knew she would find none; she spoke nothing of the truth. “Well he does not seem fond on the idea of his sister being traded for Margaery, does he?”

“My Prince is very proud and he loves his sister very much,” though Sansa had no evidence to prove Joffrey and Myrcella even _tolerated_ one another. “But if Myrcella is unhappy, my father will promise her hand to perhaps Bran or Rickon.”

They arrived at a little cabana over looking the depths of Blackwater Bay. Present in the cabana were four guards, a table of food and a young lady with golden brown hair Sansa knew to be Lady Margaery Tyrell. One guard Sansa knew was Ser Loras, and as she complimented him on his armour, she settled down into the chair next to the smiling Margaery.

“I have been so nervous to meet you, Princess Sansa,” Margaery confided in her sing-song voice. “Tales have reached me of your elegance and beauty and I could not miss upon the chance of meeting you.”

Flattered: “The honour is mine, Lady Margaery; my brother Robb will be very lucky if he gets to wed you.” She blushed prettily, and it was Sansa who felt nervous in Margaery’s presence rather than the other way around. “Please call me Sansa if we are to be friends.”

“Of course, Sansa if it pleases you,” Margaery said, “if you would call me Margaery.”

“Have you seen much of King’s Landing?” Sansa asked. “Oh you _must_ walk down Blackwater Bay! Joff - _sorry_ \- Prince Joffrey is taking me there at the end of this upcoming week. You should perhaps join us!”

“That would be a great honour to walk with our future King,” Margaery said, “but I would not wish to intrude.”

“You would not be intruding!” Sansa gushed. “But then you must dine with me sometime!”

“I shall do that,” Margaery laughed. “Grandmother, didn’t you know Lady Sansa’s Grandfather?”

“I did,” said the Queen of Thorns. “But not well: Lord Rickard.”

“He died before I was born.”

“I am aware of that, child. It's said that your Tully grandfather is dying too. Lord Hoster, surely they told you?”

Sansa nodded. “Yes I pray for his good health in the Sept daily.”

“Little good that is doing him.”

“ _Grandmother_!” Margaery scolded. “What will Sansa think of us?”

“She might think we have some wits about us. One of us, at any rate." The old Lady looked at Sansa. “Does being Queen delight you, Princess Sansa?”

“Oh as much as anything could!”

“You Starks were kings once,” Lady Olenna said, “your father will make a good King - better than Robert ever was or Joffrey ever will be - don’t look at me like that child; you know as well as me what sort of King _Joffrey_ will be.”

“A good and kind one.”

Lady Olenna laughed. “Are you that blinded with love that you cannot see the _monster_ you are about to be given to?”

How could she speak about Joffrey like this? He was to be her King (if she even lived long enough) and Sansa her Queen. What she spoke of was slandering their good Prince Joffrey! How could anyone not possibly like Joffrey?

“I love Joffrey with all my heart.”

“Do you know my son, Sansa?”

“Lord Mace Tyrell: he addressed my father at court yesterday-”

“-Claiming how in love Margaery was with your brother. To the Gods with that! You believe it was Mace’s idea to wed my Granddaughter to your brother? If Mace had any choice in the matter he’d wed Margaery to Renly Baratheon or somebody like that. Yes, Renly is kind and he is gallant, but your brother Robb well… Not one bad word has been said about him across the Seven Kingdoms. Would you say he is eligible for my Margaery?”

“Robb is wonderful,” Sansa smiled. “He’s kind and caring and funny - he’s handsome too.”

“And what do you make of Joffrey?”

“Joffrey?” Sansa echoed. “Joffrey is handsome and he is gallant and he’s ever so lovely.”

“We all _try_ to love our husbands, Sansa. I loved my Lord Luthor well enough, don't mistake me. A kind man, and not unskilled in the bedchamber, but an appalling oaf all the same. He managed to ride off a cliff whilst hawking. They say he was looking up at the sky and paying no mind to where his horse was taking him. And now my oaf son is doing the same, only he's riding a lion instead of a palfrey. It is easy to mount a lion and not so easy to get off, I warned him, but he only chuckles. Should you ever have a son, Sansa, beat him frequently so he learns to mind you. I only had the one boy and I hardly beat him at all, so now he pays more heed to Butterbumps than he does to me. A lion is not a lap cat, I told him, and he gives me a ‘tut-tut-Mother.' There is entirely too much tut-tutting in this realm, if you ask me. All these men would do a deal better if they would put down their swords and listen to their mothers."

“I would love to give Joffrey a son,” Sansa confessed, but why did she feel as if they were not the words Lady Olenna wished to hear?

“If Lord Renly had not have poisoned Queen Cersei when he had the chance, your father would be rotting in a dungeon or on a pyre somewhere in the north if Joffrey felt kind enough to grace him with a proper burial. Count your blessings everyday, child, that it was Joffrey who suffered the loss of his mother and father rather than you and remember that without the King and Queen, _no one can force you to marry him_.”

Why should she not wed Prince Joffrey though? He was brave and he was handsome and gentle - he had never done anything bad to Sansa before, despite what the Queen of Thorns was suggesting. _She’s jealous_ , Sansa realised, _because I’m marrying Joffrey and Margaery’s not_! The idea was ludicrous, but it still made sense to Sansa. _She knows Joffrey isn’t a monster, she wants me to leave him so Margaery can have Joffrey and be Queen_! Sansa wouldn’t let her do that! Joffrey was _her_ betrothed, they had said vows to each other in the Sept when they arrived at King’s Landing! Suddenly frightened, Sansa pulled herself out of the chair.

“Th-Thank you so much for your company, Lady Olenna, Lady Margaery, it was lovely to have met you, but I need to see my father! He doesn’t know where I am, he might be worrying about me.”

“We aren’t kidnapping you, if that’s what you believe Sansa.”

Frantically shaking her head, she tucked her chair under their table and slipped away out of their cabana, hearing Lady Olenna send one of her guards after Sansa to accompany her back to her father, but the guard never caught up with Sansa as she walked with a pace that was comparable with running. She would not allow Margaery to take her Joffrey away from her, no matter how beautiful or pleasant she was. _She_ was going to marry Joff, no one else!

 

She was sought out by Margaery during her needlework class a couple of days later. Sansa had been sewing a Lannister lion onto a grey satin cloth rather badly, she must admit; she was still thinking about Margaery and the Queen of Thorns’ conversation and how furious it made Sansa feel. Sansa wished she could sew a Tyrell rose and then throw it into the fire and watch it _burn_. But after thinking that, Sansa felt bad; Margaery hadn’t done anything personally wrong to her, even if she was conspiring to steal her betrothed from her.

A tap on the door and Margaery entered Sansa’s solar where the future Queen of Westeros sewed with Princess Myrcella and some other Ladies of court.

“Lady Margaery Tyrell,” Septa Mordane replied. “Please do come in - are you to join us for Needlework.”

“I came to see Princess Sansa, I was wondering if we could finish talking.”

Sansa stared down at her lap, wishing not to go with her, but she was a Princess, and sometimes Princess’ had to do things they didn’t always want to do. So doing the better thing and not abruptly dismissing Margaery, Sansa rested her needlework on her chair and swept out the room after Margaery.

“I’m sorry if I was interrupting anything. What were you sewing?”

“A banner for my father,” Sansa lied.

“Oh I’m sure it will be lovely, you _must_ show it to me sometime.” Margaery took Sansa’s arm in her own. “Where would you like to go?”

“I don’t know; it was you who came to find me.”

Smiling: “I just wanted to make sure there were no bad feelings between you and I; my Grandmother only worries about young, pretty girls like us, that’s all; she would loathe to see you trapped with a man who was nasty to you. She was trying to offer you a way out if you wanted, but it is clear to us now how dearly you love our good Prince Joffrey. Where is he now?”

“Sitting court with father; father likes him to be there on important days.”

“Is there any important news?”

Sansa shrugged. “The Lannisters are a ten day ride from us, and Robb sent scouts forward without him. He should be in King’s Landing in two days.”

“Oh how wonderful; I do look forward to meeting him at last. What’s he like?”

“I-I told you what he’s like: he’s kind and funny - he’s really good with a sword and riding, and he’s handsome too I suppose.”

“Has he had many girls?”

“Father’s never betrothed him to anyone before.”

“No _betrothals_ , Sansa,” Margaery laughed. “I mean, has he lay with any women?”

“I don’t believe so,” Sansa stumbled. “He wouldn’t tell me if he had I think. He would have told Jon - he would have _definitely_ told Theon.”

Sansa couldn’t tell is there was disappointment in Margaery’s face or curiosity. A lady shouldn’t concern herself with such things anyway. “Your brother is very honourable like your father then?”

Confusion; Sansa couldn’t tell if Margery was being sincere or mocking. “He wouldn’t dare - not when you are married.”

“Well that is a relief,” Margaery smiled. “I do hope your brother accepts to marry me; you and I can be sisters then! Wouldn’t that be lovely?”

Sansa had always wanted a sister like Margaery - and even Princess Myrcella. Instead she got Arya: rough Arya with her messy hair and nasty clothes. Margaery and Myrcella were just what young ladies should be; they were gentle and graceful and fair and their courtesies close to perfection just as Sansa’s were. Arya was more a fourth brother than a sister. Arya was barely human. To think that eventually both Margaery _and_ Myrcella would be her sisters: bound by blood and oath was a thought that delighted Sansa truly.

“When will you marry Prince Joffrey?” Margaery wondered before Sansa could describe to Margaery how truly wonderful it would be to have her as a sister, oh she _must_ persuade Robb to wed Margaery - or at least consider her! That would be wonderful.

“Septa Mordane says I can marry him as soon as I’ve flowered.”

“Oh have you not bled yet? Forgive me, I thought you were waiting until he had finished mourning to wed him.”

Sansa shook her head, ashamed that she was not ready to wed her beautiful Prince yet. “H-Have you bled yet?”

“Yes, I was ten.”

“ _Ten_?” Sansa echoed in shock.

“My mother was nine. Believe me Sansa when I tell you that the hype is unreal; it’s painful and messy and for the entire week you’re begging for it to end. You can’t wear pretty, light coloured dresses either in fear that you might spill onto them. But I suppose it means that I’m finally a woman when I bleed, which yes, it is fantastic and I’m ready to give your brother children, but one of the highlights of carrying a child is no flowering for nine moons.”

“Everybody says it’s wonderful.”

“Yes, Septas and mothers who want you to have lots of children, but coming from a _friend_ … Consider yourself lucky you haven’t been a woman from the age of ten.”

It was so different to how every other person had described it to Sansa: wonderful, miraculous, but now it frightened Sansa. She hadn’t thought about the pain and the mess and the awkwardness of it all if Joff found out - or even her father and brothers or Arya for that matter. She wouldn’t be a woman, she would be no different than who she was the day before or an hour ago all she would have done is bleed and be fit to give Prince Joffrey children - a thought that truly did delight Sansa.

Sansa spent the remainder of the afternoon with Margaery before returning to her solar to change for dinner that night. She chose to wear a beautiful satin blue silk gown Joffrey had brought for her, and a silver necklace like the one his mother used to wear in hope he would know that she would never truly forget about Queen Cersei. But once Sansa arrived at the Small Hall, she discovered that her Prince was not in attendance for dinner.

“Where is Joffrey?” Sansa asked her father.

“He’s eating his dinner in his solar,” King Eddard reported.

“Why?”

“He left court early today,” Myrcella interrupted. “Uncle Jaime’s trying to seize Dragonstone.”

“Was it Stannis who poisoned the Queen?” Arya asked.

 _No it was Prince Renly, but I am not supposed to know that._ “We believe so,” her father lied.

“Will there be war, Uncle Ned?” Tommen asked childishly.

 _Uncle Ned,_ Sansa might have laughed. “I do hope not. Your Uncle has been summoned to court, Tommen, your Grandfather Lord Tywin should be here ten days hence. We’ll get him away from the Stormlands and return him to the Red Keep.”

“I miss Uncle Jaime,” Tommen sniffed. “I wish he was here. He loved mother very much. They were twins, Uncle Ned, did you know that?”

“Aye, I did Tommen,” said her father.

As they spoke, Sansa slipped away from the Small Hall, ignoring her father when she reached the large wooden door as he called her name, asking where she was going. Fat Tom at the door walked with Sansa through Maegor’s Holdfast to where Sansa might find Prince Joffrey’s chambers.

“I shouldn’t allow you with Prince Joffrey alone, Princess Sansa,” Fat Tom said.

“I’m always alone with Prince Joffrey.”

“In the gardens, yes my Princess, but not in his chambers.”

“The Prince will not hurt me, Tom,” _why do people think that he will?_ “He has guards at his door. Father has allowed me to be with him before.”

A quick lie, but Tom fell for it all the same. Sansa did feel disappointed in herself for lying to Tom; if he told her father he would likely be very displeased with her. It would be worth it to have dinner with Joffrey _alone_ though; the Gods knew they might have some actual conversation if they were alone together and not chanced to be interrupted.

The guards at Joffrey’s door had no queries about them being alone with one another, and neither did Joffrey when they announced her arrival. His chambers were vast, the silk curtains swaying in the evening breeze and he had a beautiful view overlooking Blackwater. Both Arya and Sansa’s bedchambers could likely fit into Joffrey’s one room. It was extremely beautiful: a four poster bed was raised up, taking control of his chambers, _Joff and I will share that bed one day, and all the dead heads of animals surrounding it._ Sansa tried to avert her gaze from the dead boar’s head at the head of Joffrey’s bed, but he saw her looking.

“That boar was in the same pack as the one that killed my father,” Joffrey declared. “I’ll mount Stannis Baratheon’s head beside it when my Uncle Jaime kills him.”

Sansa swept across the room to sit with Joffrey at his table. The Prince had a meal of beef loin, gravy and an array of vegetables and sweet water. He offered to pour her a glass, to which she gratefully accepted.

“Myrcella and my father told me what was said in court today. Justice for your mother will be given to you, my beloved, my father will see that it does.”

“Your sweet words move me, darling girl. Though it’s a tad odd, don’t you believe?”

Sansa blinked. “My Prince?”

“Well it seems rather odd to me, that my Uncle Renly would have in his full control the City Watch and _your_ father would be named King Regent until I come of age,” Joffrey rose in his seat. “Wouldn’t you agree?”

“It was terrible what happened to your mother and father, my Prince.”

Suddenly, Sansa felt Joffrey’s face close up to Sansa’s cheek, and he had a hand on her throat. Too frightened to scream, Joffrey tightened his grip on Sansa and all that sounded from her were gasps lusting for air. Fingernails dug into Sansa’s skin, she could feel him drawing blood from her throat.

“ _I know your father poisoned by mother.”_

He released her, and Sansa fell to her hands and knees gasping for breath. Tears swelled in her eyes as she scratched at her throat, seeing that blood oozed from her neck when she withdrew her hands. _Stand up! Stand up you silly girl_! Sansa scrambled to her feet, having to use the chair and table to aid her. _Show him you are not scared, show him that you see it is only a game he is playing. Don’t make him stop loving you. Don’t make him angry._

“My-My father is grief-stricken for your father and mother-”

“-LIAR!”

Everything the Queen of Thorns had said to her was true - everything Arya had said about Joffrey was true, but Sansa could not see it. She had never truly been able to see it, but once Joffrey’s hand made contact with Sansa’s bottom lip, suddenly she saw all his manipulation and abuse become clear to her as if she had been trapped behind a cage her whole life and was now soaring free, only to be forced into a larger cage: a self aware, voluminous cage.

“Don’t lie to me, sweet Sansa. How can I love someone who lies to me?”

His fore and middle finger caressed her damp cheek. It took everything in Sansa’s power not to hit him back or bite him. _No, make him love you. Be a lady. Do not bite him!_

“Now sit and eat with me before my dinner gets cold; the servants made it especially for me; they know how much I love tough and resistant meat.”

So Sansa sat with him, avoiding the chair either side of him, opting for the one across from him at the table so at least if he tried to hit or strangle her again, she might be able to scream for help. The worse thing about the evening, Sansa reflected, was how _kind_ Joff treated her after he had slapped her, as if he had forgotten about it, ignored the fact Sansa’s neck and lip bled throughout the due course of the meal. Sansa dared not tend to it, dared not wipe the blood that dripped onto her dress. _Margaery was right. Blood does show up on pale silks. How embarrassing that is for me._


	3. Arya I

The Red Keep was alive with the sound of hooves and wagons early on the morning that Robb would arrive at the Red Keep. Father sent a host of one hundred men that night to meet Robb and escort him to the city. Father roused them all early: Arya, Sansa and Myrcella, Tommen and Joffrey. Arya was scrubbed red raw by handmaids and thrown into a frilly gown much more Sansa’s taste than her own. It would be all worth it to see Robb again though.

When Robb arrived he looked very different from the boy Arya had left at the castle. He had grown taller since the last year, his red hair more rugged and a beard developed on his face. Prince Robb sat tall and strong on his horse, no longer a boy but a man now. He was still a boy who missed his father, embracing him tightly when he dismounted his mare. Father and son exchanged words of greeting - it was all too formal for Arya's liking. All she wanted to do was run to Robb and hug him and show her what Syrio had taught her. But Arya was no longer Arya Stark; she was _Princess_ Arya Stark now, and Robb now Prince Robb. She had been warned not to embarrass him before father's people.

When Arya was allowed to greet Robb, she wrapped herself in his embrace. It was good to see him again, but she would have liked it to be Jon: to kiss her cheek, mess her hair and call her "little sister".

"You've grown," Robb claimed. "Yet you're still so skinny."

"'am not," Arya grunted. "I'm stronger now - I'll show you what I've been practicing."

"Father told me you've began practicing with a sword with Prince Tommen, aye, should I be weary of him?"

"I beat him every time."

He smiled down at her. "I'd expect nothing else from you."

Sansa hugged Robb too, telling him how gallant he looked in his new silks fit for a Prince. She bought forward Prince Joffrey to present to him proudly, but the two of them barely exchanged glances when faced with one another again. Tommen mumbled his greeting while Myrcella stepped forward sheepishly. Arya realised Robb still believed he would wed Myrcella one day, she would rather Myrcella become her sister than Margaery; it was the opposite of what Sansa wanted.

"Princess Myrcella," Robb took her hand. It saddened Arya to see Myrcella so enamoured with Robb when he would not even look at her again once he realised he could have the chance of marrying Margaery. "It is worth the travel to see you."

Myrcella had the grace to blush. "It is nice to see you again, Prince Robb."

"Just Robb if it would please you."

As father welcomed the rest of the men who rode with Robb and shared beef and salt with them as tradition ordered, they were escorted into the Red Keep: Robb's squires taking his trunks to his new chambers in Maegor's Holdfast. Robb looked around in awe at the grand tapestries and ornate carvings on podiums and around the window ledges. Though Arya had seen them hundreds of times before, seeing them with Robb, witnessing his first glances at them, made them seem more beautiful and magical.

"How long will you stay in King's Landing for, Robb?" Sansa asked.

"Not long... a year perhaps. I don't wish to leave Winterfell too long. I know father wants me to rule in his stead while he rules in Joffrey's."

"There's someone I would like you to meet," Sansa trailed off, taking Robb's arm and walking ahead from the others.

Arya fell back a little to walk beside Myrcella, dressed prettily in cream silks, her golden hair loose and falling past her elbows. "Robb will choose you," Arya claimed. "You're nicer than Margaery."

"I'm not," said Myrcella.

Arya had not yet met Lady Margaery, but Myrcella had on the day she arrived in King's Landing as a royal host should.

Arya and Myrcella trailed behind Tommen and Joffrey and Robb and Sansa to the small hall where the welcoming feast was set and prepared. They would not be allowed in for another hour yet; their arrivals were important and to be shown before everyone. Robb would lead with Myrcella (perhaps the last time Myrcella shall be on his arm) then Sansa and the stupid Prince, followed by Arya and Tommen. Arya wished for Jon to be there, and Bran and Rickon too, and mother. She wanted them all to be there. She wanted them all to be at home in Winterfell.

"-I look forward to meeting her."

"Oh you can tonight."

"The Tyrell's weren't invited tonight," Joffrey claimed.

"Why ever not?" Sansa wondered.

"I shall meet Lady Margaery another day. She sounds lovely, Sansa."

"I hope you'll meet a lot!" Sansa gushed, taking Robb's arm and leading him towards the lounger where they both seated themselves on. "You _are_ to wed her one day." Robb looked confused. "She stood before father pledging her love to you! He said he would allow you to wed her if you agreed to it and you liked her! Oh I do hope you like her Robb! If you do you could get married within the year and she could give you babies - _oooh_ how darling it would be to meet them!"

Robb laughed. "I am to wed Princess Myrcella as you are to wed Joffrey and Arya the same with Tommen. I could not put aside a promise for - what you claim to be - a pretty face."

"But you haven't said a vow yet!"

Arya didn't know why this bothered her so much. "Oh well if you love Margaery so much why don't _you_ marry her?"

" _Arya_!"

While Robb laughed and Tommen smiled and Myrcella and Joffrey looked meek, Arya realised the differences between her family and the one of the three orphans who sat with them. Their mother and father had never loved them like Ned and Catelyn loved them, had never had the same childhood or experiences or allowances, had never been able to argue or bicker or fight without being scolded. It was quite sad that they would be so distant from each other even at the ages that they were. Arya couldn't imagine living a strict and rule-based life as Myrcella had done. She might have thrown herself from a tower.

"Robb did you see Uncle Tyrion on the Kingsroad?" Tommen asked.

"No I didn't."

"Do you know when he's coming back?"

"Uncle Tyrion is with Grandfather, Tommen. They'll be here in a week."

"And Uncle Jaime too?"

Arya hoped not; the Kingslayer had murdered Jory and the others and he'd hurt father's leg and killed hundreds of villagers because he was in a bad mood. Arya hoped she'd never see him again and he'd die on the road. He couldn't be trusted.

"How are Bran and Rickon?" Sansa wondered.

"Safe with Theon and Maester Luwin. They miss you terribly, they both send their love."

"Could they come visit us?" Arya wanted to know.

"Or you could visit them with mother once she arrives at King's Landing."

Arya nodded furiously. "Yes I'd love to!"

Arya longed for her pony back in Winterfell, to take it out on the field and forest and ride for hours on her own - father might let her do that now she was older and could wield a sword. She wanted to play with Bran again and laugh with Rickon and go running with him in the yard. She wanted to see a direwolf again and steal food from the cooks and play amongst the servant's children and mess up her dresses. She wanted to be free.

They were summoned into the small hall a couple at the time in the order Arya predicted they would go in. Sansa and Joffrey looked radiant together, Sansa smiling almost too eagerly with a heavy silver neck chain that seemed to weigh her down and choke her. Robb and Myrcella looked sheepish and Arya didn't know what she and Tommen looked like, but it must have been awkward because people grinned at them and whispered.

They were permitted to begin eating when the music began and the fools danced amongst the tables. Arya was trapped for conversation only with Tommen, but he'd take his company over Sansa's anyday.

"Your father says we can go to an armourer tomorrow in the Street of Steel for my name day and you can help me choose a helmet."

"Can I get something too?"

Tommen nodded at her. "If we take enough gold. I want a lion and a stag like Joff has, but a wolf for you."

That was kind of him. Arya didn't think Joffrey would offer to do that for her sister nor would Robb do it for Myrcella. "I want a shield."

"So do I! I'll help you choose a shield."

"I want a golden one with a wolf on it."

Tommen looked at her in awe as if she had prophesied the most exhilarating thing. "I never saw my father's shield or sword. He liked his axe. He took me hunting once but I didn't like it. I don't like killing things."

"Then what do you want a shield for?"

"To protect myself from Joffrey."

Arya looked at him strangely. "He wouldn't try and kill you."

"He hates me!" Arya didn't doubt that. "Can you pass the pie?"

Arya remembered little of the feast by the conclusion of the night; giddy on the prospect of getting a _shield_ as well as already having her own sword. She'd have her first piece of proper weaponry. She would have to keep it safe and a secret from her father. Arya didn't think Tommen could keep a secret very well, but she hoped for his sake as well as her own that he could.

 

The following morning like promised, Arya, Tommen and a guard of fifty men rode to the armourer's in the city father claimed to be the best. They definitely received Arya and Tommen the best; standing outside their shop and offering them anything they wanted for free so long as they promised to buy everything from there in the future. Tommen said he would, as did Arya and while Arya gazed longingly at the swords and daggers and crossbows they had on display to be made, Tommen sat with the women in the yard, playing with their children and giving him gold from his purse.

"Is there something that her Grace would like?" The old armourer asked. His name was Tobho Mott, claimed to be the best armourer in King’s Landing and one who could work with Valyrian steel. Arya didn’t have any Valyrian steel but father did and it made Ice even more beautiful and daunting. Arya wished for her own Valyrian steel sword one day, but for now she’d settle with a golden shield.

"A gift for her royal father mayhaps - or a present for her betrothed."

It was then Arya noticed what Tommen was doing in the yard. "I want a shield and it's for me."

"A shield?" The armourer scratched his balding head. "I'll see what I can do - GENDRY! GENDRY get out from the back room and help me with our royal Princess." Arya fingered the cord of her gown as the boy named Gendry staggered out of the back room. He was tall and black haired and covered in soot. There was no possible way he could be the armourer's son. "My apprentice. Your father came asking him about him once, promised he'd come back to us and he sure did! Gendry, show the Princess the helmet you made!"

The apprentice scurried back into the back room and Arya could hear the beloved clang of metal. He returned with a bull head helmet forged beautifully. Arya reached out to touch it but he snatched it away.

"You can't have it; tis mine."

"Gendry! Excuse him, Princess, he gets excited and nervous when we have company."

But Arya spoke over him. "-I didn't want your stupid helmet anyway! How are you supposed to move when you're being weighed down by armour?"

"And you're an expert on fighting."

"I have my own sword."

"Then whatcha want a shield for if it weighs you down?"

"To smash their heads in if they get too close.”

The apprentice stared angrily at Arya, then laughed at her last comment. The a Princess found herself smiling too, following the apprentice into the back room. It was as dirty as he was: covered in oil and soot and wood chips and spare loose pieces of metal. Fires blazed in the kiln and tools Arya had never dreamed of hung on walls and above benches. All this was wasted on a boy like Tommen.

"Can you make shields?"

"Yes," replied Gendry. "What size?"

Arya was unsure about sizes. "Which do you think I should get? You're the expert."

"Thought you were. I'd say this long and this wide," he demonstrated with his hands. "We have good steel and metal for you."

"What about gold?"

"Sir said it was free."

"I want it gold."

"You want it for fighting? Gold ain’t for fighting, Princess. We’ll do you for steel painted gold with gold pieces in it if you like."

Arya reached into her own purse she had brought with her; Tommen gave her half the gold father had given him to buy a helmet and she passed the golden dragons and silver stags to him.

"I want a wolf on it," and with a glance of Tommen, reluctantly added and handed over more gold, "with rubies for two eyes." Gendry took the money from her, looking at it weighing in his hands. It was likely more than he would ever earn in a lifetime and Arya stood in his shop giving it to him willingly because it wasn’t hers and she hadn’t earned it. "When will it be ready?"

"The steel in five days, the gold with it maybe a moon's turn; gold has to melt and it has to set in shape. We'll have to give it to a goldsmith to deal with. Return on the next full moon and we should be done."

Arya took another look at Tommen. "He wants a helmet: gold too with a stag and lion and wolf. Can you do that for him as well? He has more gold,"

Gendry judged the gold and silver coins he held in his hands, also staring at Arya in wonder as if to question how she could possibly own more gold. "This should be enough."

"Take his as well; you can keep what you don't use."

The apprentice bowed humbly. "You honour me, your Grace."

Arya wondered if she would ever grow use to people calling her Princess or their Grace, especially somebody like Gendry whom, five minutes ago, had been bickering with her in the shop front.

"How old are you Princess Arya?"

"I'm ten in four moons."

“Do you know how to use a shield?”

“I know how to use a sword. I’ll learn to use a shield when you make it for me.”

“And your master-at-arms will teach you?” Arya nodded. “I’m an armourer’s apprentice and I don’t know how to wield a sword nice and proper.”

She felt guilty for the boy; with his strength and willingness, Arya was sure he would make a great Knight one day if he wanted to. But he was poor with no training and trapped in the life of making swords that he could never use. “I could teach you if you like.”

He laughed. “No offense, your Grace, but I might be a little bit stronger than you. I wouldn’t like to hurt your Grace.”

“You’ve met my father,” Arya stammered. “He-he what did he say to you?”

“He didn’t say it to me, your Grace, but said if I wanted to become a Knight I should go to him.”

“Then go to him!”

“He’s King now, your Grace.”

“He’s my father! I could talk to him if you like, get him to let you train with us. Not with me, but with my brother and some other boys. You’d like Robb! He’s only a year younger than you and you’re stronger I bet you he’d let you train with him!”

Gendry glanced around the shop, sighing. “Master Tobho wouldn’t let me.”

“Yes he would! Please, if I talk to father would you say yes?”

The older boy let out a sigh, swinging his arms back and forth. “Don’t rush it. Just… just tell me what he says when you come to pick up your gift. I don’t want to bother him.”

“It won’t be a bother!”

Gendry found it tricky to accept that, but no more words were exchanged between Princess and apprentice for Master Tobho returned to the back of his shop with Prince Tommen who told Arya he wished to go back to the castle now. Arya big farewell to Gendry and Master Tobho, emptying Tommen’s silver string purse into Gendry’s hands, promising that she’d return with a reply.

 

Before Arya went to change for supper with her family, she ran to her father’s chambers in the tower of the hand to ask him about Gendry. Arya quite liked the apprentice boy; he was funny and didn’t care for Arya’s status like other lower class folk did. Perhaps they could train together one day and become friends and Arya could watch him joust in a tourney. Maybe he would become Captain of father or Robb’s guard or maybe even one of Arya’s guards because she was the one who came up with the idea to let Gendry join their household. She just had to make father say yes.

Allowed into her father’s solar, she found him alone with the fat, bald, sweet smelling man: the Spider or Lord Varys, which she was made to call him. He bowed to her gracefully - a bow better performed than any of Arya’s could aspire to be - but she ignored him, racing across the room to where her father sat over a book. He closed it once she got near, Arya slamming the palms of her hands onto the oak table.

“I went to the armourer with Tommen today.”

Father sighed. “ _Arya_.”

“There’s a boy there: Gendry. He wants to be a Knight.”

Well, he didn’t say that he did, but Arya knew what people wanted better than themselves sometimes. Her father and the Spider exchanged glances, that much Arya was certain of, but she didn’t know why they would.

“Arya why did you go with Prince Tommen?”

“He let me; he said I could have something with the gold you have him for his name day next week. He’s getting a helmet, I’m having a shield.”

“Well at least her Grace doesn’t want a crossbow or a dagger,” the Spider reasoned. “It looks like Prince Tommen might be smitten with our Princess if he gave her half his gold.”

“Arya…” Father sighed. “It is not your place-”

“-You told Master Tobho that if Gendry ever wanted to wield a sword he should come and find you. Well he does now - and Tommen is _not_ smitten with me.” She didn’t even know what smitten was.

“That was a long time ago, Arya… Things have changed since then. I need loyal men in my command to protect my children. Gendry is of poorer background than any of my Knights, he would have no sense of loyalty to the family like the others.”

“That isn’t an excuse! Just because he’s poor! He’s strong and fit! Isn’t that enough?”

“Not always.”

“Sometimes, your Grace, background can be very important,” Lord Varys spoke to her father, not Arya. “Parentage included. If the father is strong, then the child might be also. _The seed is strong_. If the father is a fighter, so is the son.”

Her father seemed to be at a loss for what to do. He glanced at Lord Varys then at his daughter, pinching the bridge of his nose as if trying to make a difficult decision.

“If you let him train I promise I’ll be good!”

“Well that is a tempting offer, your Grace,” Lord Varys teased. “King Eddard, you must take her up on her offer if she is promising she will be good.”

“Fine,” her father said, “but you must also be kinder to your sister.”

“You always say that to me,” Arya complained. “Tell her that! Not me!”

“I tell it to the both of you. Now go and wash your hands and change your gown; it’s Robb’s first dinner with us as the family. Joffrey, Myrcella and Tommen are dining with the Tyrell’s tonight. It will only be the four of us.”

That delighted Arya; she hated having dinner with Joffrey and his smug smile and rude comments; she just hated Joffrey. Now that it was his name day in two moons all he could talk about was how brilliant his tourney was going to be and making fun of Arya because she couldn’t fight because she was a girl. Arya knew that if she could fight she’d knock the royal pain off his arse.

“Will mother be here soon?”

“Very soon,” father promised. “But we have a lot of people to greet; Lord Tywin and Lord Tyrion ride into the city in one week precisely. Arya, what did you make of Lord Tyrion?”

“The imp?” Her father nodded. “He’s a funny little man. Jon liked him.”

“Your father has reason to make him Hand of the King,” Lord Varys informed. “A better Lannister to choose out of them all: one we know who cannot be easily won over by Joffrey.”

“What about Lord Tywin?” Arya asked. “Is he going to stay in King’s Landing?”

Father told Arya not to worry about Lord Tywin or Lord Tyrion and that he would speak to who he needed to about training Gendry to be a Knight. Arya was fortunate she had caught father in a reasonable mood and he had not punished her for buying a shield without his permission. Maybe one day she would go to her father and reason with him to allow her to remain unmarried or at least not marry Prince Tommen. She could not try that today. She would try another time, maybe in a year or when their wedding was looming closer and he had forgotten about her bad behaviour as a young girl. Marriage and Queenship and babies were what Sansa wanted. Arya just wanted to be free.


	4. Ned II

Ned was not a man to curse, but he fucking hated politics.

Each Lannister rode into the city atop a great stallion or mare, ornate themselves in steel armour and great longswords - or so Lord Tywin created the illusion that they did. He knew that by the time the rest of the host rode through the city gates Ned Stark would be inside the Red Keep and away from the riders who came in tattered robes or walked on foot. Appearance was important to Tywin Lannister but it mattered little to Ned.

"My daughter's body," greeted Lord Tywin. "I want returned to Casterly Rock this present day."

"Welcome to the city," Ned said.

He dismounted a grand silver mare more gracefully than Ned assumed given the age of the man. Lord Tywin had a good many years on Ned, was silver haired but balding yet could still intimidate the soul out a corpse. Lord Tyrion, on the other hand, the Imp of Lannister with his matted golden hair and multicoloured eyes, could frighten the souls out a corpse with his monstrous features.

"Shall we step inside the castle?" Lord Tywin asked.

"Wouldn't you like to see your Grandchildren, my Lord?"

"There are graver matters to discuss. I believe you want me to bend the knee and lay down my sword and pledge an oath to you, your Grace."

The last time Ned had seen Tywin Lannister was when he presented to Robert the corpses of Prince Aegon and Princess Rhaenys near fifteen years ago, draped in the crimson cloak of his house.

"Along with both sons, my Lord."

"I believe we lost Jaime on the road quite shortly before I arrived," Lord Tyrion quipped. "So I fear he cannot be here to pledge his allegiance to House Stark." Lord Tyrion was known for his size in stature but also for his size in wits and knowledge. "Jaime might not be here and my father may not wish to see his Grandchildren, but I do with to offer them my condolences. As much as I disliked Cersei, it grieves me to see the state of her children."

"You may see all three of them at dinner," Ned said through gritted teeth. "Lord Tywin is correct; we ought go in the castle."

All three men, accompanied by an abundance of household guards, made their way through the Red Keep. All knew where they were going; all had been here before. It was useless offering a tour or asking if they could find their chambers.

Inside the throne room, Lord Tywin and Lord Tyrion and the Lords of the Westerlands pledged their allegiance to the Kingdom under the watchful eye of Ned on top of the throne with Robert's crown rested on top of his head. It was a smug sight to see Lord Tywin kneel on the floor where he lay the dead bodies of the Princess and Prince and to see him swear his fealty to Ned. He asked once more for Cersei's body to be returned to Casterly. Ned told him the Silent Sisters would ride on the morrow.

“Might I give cause to remind you, King Eddard,” began Lord Tywin as they had their exit from the Throne Room. “That by King Robert naming you to rule in Prince Joffrey’s name until his sixteenth name day that by law you have no right to the Kingship you hold.”

Ned had expected Lord Tywin to mention this topic. He was only surprised the lion of Lannister had not referred to it sooner. _Mayhaps he intents to play a game_. “Aye, Lord Tywin, but it was agreed by the small council that I should rule as King until Prince Joffrey comes of age: I am somebody for him to look up to as King and I had as much of a right to the throne as Robert after the siege of King’s Landing; I helped take it, I helped win it. The only difference was at the time I had no interest in being King.”

“So what has changed your mind?”

“My daughter Sansa is to be Queen one day, Arya will marry Tommen and maybe Robb will wed Myrcella-”

“-Maybe?”

"-Lady Margaery Tyrell-"

"-You would pass my only Granddaughter over for a summer rose?"

They arrived at the small council chamber: a room little smaller than Ned’s Small Hall where he hosted dinner for his family. At the centre of the room was a large table with ten chairs on the outside, one for every council member: the King (Ned), the Hand of the King (soon to be Tyrion), the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard (previously Ser Barristan, Ned ought to look for a new one), Master of Coin (Littlefinger), Master of Whisperers (Varys), Master of Laws (newly appointed Renly Baratheon), Grand Maester Pycelle and the Master of Ships. Though at that present time when Ned, Lord Tyrion and Lord Tywin entered the chamber, only three chairs would be taken. Ned took his at the head of the table, Lord Tywin sitting to his left, Lord Tyrion to his right.

“Lord Tyrion, no one could doubt your loyalty to House Lannister,” began Ned. “To make the bond between Lannister and Stark stronger, I, King Eddard of the House Stark, the first of my name, do offer the position of Hand of the King to you, Lord Tyrion of House Lannister, the second of your name.”

It would be a reasonable chance to show apology to House Lannister for taking the Imp hostage, keeping him in a sky cell and plausibly throwing him to his death. It was also difficult to distinguish who was most shocked at the proposal: Lord Tyrion or Lord Tywin. The offer was not intended to spite Lord Tywin, but it would not sadden Ned if that was how he interpreted it.

“Couldn’t you just give me a Northern girl instead?” He quipped.

“If an honourable match between you and a highborn lady of the north is desired, I can make arrangements.”

Lord Tyrion held up his hand to disagree. “No, no that won’t be necessary; I don’t intend to wed any time soon. What do you think, father, shall I accept King Eddard’s gracious offer?” It was clear that the offer had insulted Lord Tywin, possibly expecting that he would be asked for the position, but although Lord Tywin was an intelligent man, he was cut throat and ruthless and old, he would be more likely to lead than follow. Tyrion could however be trained. A tame lion is always better than a wild one. “I’ll accept your offer, King Eddard, but no dinner or tourney will be needed. Just give me the badge and I’ll start on the morrow.”

Ned rose from his chair at the head of the table and crossed  of room. When Lord Tywin thought Ned was out of earshot when really, the hollow room carried their voices louder than battle cries, he began to slander Ned and Lord Tyrion in his hushed voice. Neither men said nothing of it to Lord Tywin, Tyrion either not bothering to defend himself due to the abundance of his father’s insults or he couldn’t be bothered. Ned kept quiet out of courtesy. He slipped the badge across to Lord Tyrion: a small, rusty golden pin in the shape of a hand. Lord Tyrion studied it and clipped it onto his jerkin.

“My thanks, King Eddard, I hope to be as good of a Hand as my father was to Aerys Targaryen.”

Undetectable was the sarcasm in the Hand of the King’s voice, but both father and King could sense it. Both Lannister men seemed eager to leave the council hall and even Ned desired to leave to break his fast with his children, but there were more concerning matters to take their time. The Hand of the King allowed a break, but neither men stirred from their seats, each of them waiting for the rest of the council to arrive: Lord Varys and his strong scents came first, followed quickly by sly Littlefinger and Grand Maester Pycelle.  Renly Baratheon leisurely strolled in the council room. Ned thought that insulting to himself; he would have thought that the man who murdered Cersei Lannister would try not to draw too much attention to himself in front of the woman’s father.

“It seems we miss too few men,” Renly said in a sigh, “a Hand of the King, a Lord Commander of the Kingsguard.”

“We have a new Hand of the King,” Tyrion Lannister spoke. “It would be I: sat here to our gracious Regent’s right. My sincere condolences to you, Lord Renly: with Robert dead and Stannis a declared traitor, it’s almost miraculous you escaped from this change in monarch unscarred.”

“I wouldn’t say unscarred, Lord Tyrion; I have deep grief for the loss of my beloved brother. My congratulations on your new position at court, let us pray to the Gods you last longer than poor Jon Arryn.”

“Fifteen years is a long time to stay stationary in one position, Lord Renly,” Lord Baelish said, “should we pray instead that Lord Tyrion doesn’t reach an untimely fate as Jon Arryn?”

The games these men play; it was little wonder Robert never came to meetings. The men in the room loathed each other: Littlefinger and Varys, Littlefinger and Renly, Renly and Tyrion, Tyrion and Lord Tywin, Lord Tywin and Ned. The words of the dead Queen haunted Ned not for the first time: ‘When you play the game of thrones, you win or you die.’ These men weren’t so looking to play the game of thrones as they were to playing one another.

“I did not have you summoned to make japes at one another,” Ned claimed. “I brought you here to inform you on some news: Daenerys Targaryen has had her child.”

“Should we send it a golden rattle?” Renly suggested.

“Or an arakh,” said Tyrion.

“There will be no need for gifts, my Lords; the babe died in childbirth and her husband few days after. If anything we should send her our condolences.”

“Though that is not the worse of the news, I am afraid,” Varys told them his secrets as if he truly cared what would happen as a result. “When she burned Khal Drogo’s body, three dragons hatched from their eggs.”

“Dragons?” Lord Tyrion echoed in wonder.

“Three of them.”

“We cannot be sure though,” Littlefinger seemed doubtful. “Our stories come from travellers and gypsies from across the Narrow sea, they could easily have been paid to tell us lies. We ought not worry about this now; even if she does have dragons, she marches east, not west onto us with no army or support. The dragonspawn will only be a threat to us once she docks in Westeros.

“And even then, who would support the inbred bastard of a dead King?”

Renly and Ned shared glances from across the table, invisible to anybody else who might have seen. Ned was almost certain everybody knew the truth of Joffrey, Myrcella and Tommen’s parentage and if Lord Tywin didn’t - which Ned highly doubted - he would not openly question his King. There was not a man in this room he trusted and he found himself missing Cat and her warm embrace and soft words more so than ever.


End file.
